


The Space Left Behind

by Independence1776



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 04:09:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14252754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Independence1776/pseuds/Independence1776
Summary: Early in the Second Age, Elrond drags an orc-poisoned Maglor to Lindon.





	The Space Left Behind

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for an [anonymous prompt on Tumblr](http://independence1776.tumblr.com/post/169892933428/lokiclint-13-or-maglor-elrond-11-with-maglor). I was also able to include the screen from SWG's Middle-earth Museum challenge.

“You’re bleeding.”

Maglor glanced down at his arm, a small stain of blood visible on the light-colored shirtsleeve near where it was sliced open. “It’s shallow.”

“Let me clean it,” Elrond said.

Maglor moved away from the handful of orc corpses toward their fire burning above the water line on the shore. “Hopefully nothing stole our supper.”

Elrond snorted. Their supper was not something he would worry about; they could always catch and roast more fish. The cut on Maglor’s arm, on the other hand, could easily have been worse. But when Elrond cleaned the wound, it was as shallow as Maglor had said. It would be closed by dawn.

Elrond tied the bandage on. “There. Don’t get it wet and you can remove it in the morning.”

Maglor frowned at the fire. “If there was a group of orcs this close to Lindon, we should set watch.”

“You sleep first. I’ll wake you after moonset.”

Maglor nodded and reached for a skewer of fish.

 

 

Elrond stretched and circled the banked fire to wake Maglor. He crouched down next to his sleeping foster father. “Maglor?” 

He didn’t stir. Elrond frowned and touched Maglor’s shoulder. It was warm for not having a blanket covering it. And he hadn’t moved. Elrond put a hand against his forehead-- fever.

Maglor did turn a little then and blearily opened his eyes. “Elrond?”

Elrond glanced around the clearing. There had been no further sign of orcs, from either sudden silence of the night creatures or odd noises. They were as safe as possible until the sun rose. “You’re feverish. Let me see your wound.”

Maglor blinked at him and then sat up. He pushed up his sleeve and let Elrond take off the bandage to examine it. The cut was healing well, almost closed, with no sign of infection. He met Maglor’s eyes and his foster father’s face was paler than it had been before. Maglor gently pulled his arm out of Elrond’s grasp and unrolled the sleeve. “As yet, fever is my only symptom.”

“I’ll make you some willow bark.” Elrond stood and stirred the coals back to life. He glared at the small pot, waiting for the water to boil, while Maglor sat in silence behind him. Poison. If Maglor was lucky, his fever would break soon. But both of them knew how insidious orc poison could be. And Elrond could not effectively treat it in a makeshift camp on the shore.

Finally, the infusion was ready and Maglor willingly drank it down. “Can you continue to keep watch?”

Elrond shook his head. “We’re going to Lindon.”

Maglor stared aghast at him. “Elrond…”

“Don’t, Father. I’m not going to lose you, too, not this soon after Elros sailed for Númenor.”

“The Eldar won’t treat me.”

Elrond gave him a crooked smile. “Who says I’d take you to the healers? My chamber has indoor plumbing. If we can sneak you in before sunrise, no one will know you’re there.” Maglor looked down into his empty mug and said nothing. “I can’t heal you here.”

“You know the reasons I am an Exile, Elrond. I can sneak out once I recover-- but if I don’t, how will you explain my corpse?”

Elrond squeezed his eyes shut, torn between begging his foster father to not say that and knowing it was too likely of a future. But a corpse would be a certainty if Maglor didn’t receive better care. “I’ll confess to Gil-galad.”

“I’m not going to be able to talk you out of this, am I?”

Elrond shook his head and opened his eyes. “When you become delirious, I’ll drag you there regardless. Maglor-- Father-- _please_.”

After sitting in silence for a little while, Maglor finally nodded.

It was a full day’s hike to return to the growing city, with plenty of breaks for Maglor to rest. By the time they reached it, Maglor was leaning on Elrond for support, the willow bark no longer keeping his fever at bay. He stumbled on his feet far too often and sometimes had muttered conversations in Quenya with people who weren’t there. Once within the borders-- they’d been able to sneak past the guards with little effort, something he’d need to warn Gil-galad about-- they made their way through the predawn streets, lamps coming on in some windows as they passed. Only a few people were out, none of whom paid any attention to them.

Getting into Gil-galad’s palace was harder, but not impossible. Elrond made sure Maglor’s hood covered his face and went to the main entrance, where the door warden rolled her eyes and opened the door for them. “He have a bad night of it?” she asked.

Elrond nodded and hurried Maglor inside before the warden could have a chance to peer under the hood. A few servants passed them, though no one questioned them. Elrond was counting on the ability of people to see what they wished. It was Maglor’s only chance-- and they encountered no one in the small corridor outside of Elrond’s two-room suite. Maglor leaned against the wall to let Elrond retrieve his key where it was tied into his pack and then they all but stumbled into the suite.

Maglor took off his pack and dropped it onto the carpeted floor while Elrond closed and locked the door behind them. He sighed, took off his own pack, and ushered Maglor to the bathroom and attached privy. After a quick use of the facilities, Maglor collapsed into Elrond’s bed. Elrond pulled the covers over him, gave him the last of the willow bark tisane they’d made during a stop to eat at dusk, and went into the living room of the suite. He needed to hide Maglor’s pack-- he needed to hide Maglor himself.

Elrond picked up the pack, dropped it near the bedside table in the bedroom, and unfolded the wooden-and-patterned-fabric screen Gil-galad had given him several years ago that Elrond had never seen a use for because he rarely entertained visitors in his chambers and never in his bedroom. He set up the screen so that no could standing in the main room could see anything through the archway into the bedroom; he couldn’t risk the chance of someone visiting him and being curious.

Regardless of that and his exhaustion from staying awake for nearly two days, he still needed to clean up himself. He did so, checked on Maglor-- who was sleeping, the empty flask on the bedside table-- and collapsed on the couch in the living room for a nap himself.

 

 

Elrond rubbed his forehead, frowned down at his unconscious foster father, and went to answer the knock on his door. Gil-galad stood on the other side, incongruously holding a tray with a covered platter. Elrond gestured him inside and shut the door, forcing himself to not glance at the screen. Maglor would be safe as long as he didn’t resume muttering. He hadn’t done so since the previous evening. 

“How are you feeling?” Gil-galad asked as he put the tray on the desk under the window. “You have half the court convinced you accidentally poisoned yourself in the woods and the other half convinced that your mortal blood has made you susceptible to mortal diseases, so you are suffering the indignity of a minor illness in private.”

Elrond raised an eyebrow. “How did they come to those conclusions?”

“The kitchen staff gossip, same as everyone else does. Word spread you’ve asked for nothing but medicine, toast, and broth at the same time you’ve all but confined yourself to your suite for _two days_. What else were they supposed to think?”

Elrond shrugged.

“So I ask again: how are you?” When Elrond opened his mouth, Gil-galad said, “Or rather, how is Maglor?”

Elrond’s mouth clicked shut. He could say nothing to either confirm or deny, but his stomach gurgled at the smell of beef coming from the tray.

“Elrond…,” his voice a little lower in warning.

“How--?”

“The door warden. She is professionally obliged to be curious, but she also knew there was only one person you would sneak into the palace. She told me; I let you be under the assumption you would inform me. But you told me _nothing_.”

“I--”

Gil-galad covered his eyes with a hand. “Elrond, you are family. But I am losing my patience.”

“Orc poison,” he said softly.

Gil-galad’s hand dropped from his eyes, a shocked but understanding expression on his face. “You brought him here to die, didn’t you?”

He moved to the bedroom and nearly ran into the screen. He gave Elrond a sardonic look and walked around it to stare down at Maglor. Elrond stood next to Gil-galad and looked down at his foster father. He was clearly feverish, hanks of hair stuck to his face, and slightly jaundiced.

“He’s been delirious since before I snuck him in. I have done what I could to lower the fever, but the jaundice appeared late last night. I couldn’t wake him this morning, not even to trickle broth and water down his throat.”

Gil-galad squeezed Elrond’s shoulder in silent comfort. Gently, he said, “You’ve eaten nothing but toast and whatever broth he didn’t drink. I brought my lunch tray for you, Elrond. I don’t want to order you to eat it--”

“You won’t need to,” Elrond said. “I needed to keep up the illusion that I was the only one here. Now that you know, I won’t refuse food.”

In the living room, Elrond steadily worked his way through the meal while Gil-galad sat next to him on the couch and stared silently into the fire. When Elrond finished, Gil-galad said, “What are his chances of survival?”

“If the poison is what I think it is, it’s an equal chance either way. If the jaundice worsens, the odds tip toward death. If it lessens by sunset, he’ll likely recover.”

“How did this happen?”

Elrond explained and Gil-galad sighed. “I understand you bringing him here, Elrond. I truly do. You can treat him better here and if he does indeed die, better to die in comfort than on a crude pallet in the woods. But it puts me in a difficult position.”

“I know.”

Gil-galad side-eyed Elrond. “If word spreads he’s here, your position in court is threatened. You’ve only just managed to quiet the rumors that your loyalty is to the House of Fëanor rather than to… pretty much anyone else. Actually _bringing_  Maglor here is--”

Elrond huffed a laugh. “I thought it worth the risk. I still do. Those who want my foster father to die alone in the woods are no friends of mine. Court can deal with the reminder that I was raised by the Fëanorians.” He sighed. “I acknowledge it will make my life difficult. Too many people have good cause to hate him. Who else knows he’s here?”

“The door warden guessed and doesn’t want confirmation. She desires to stay out of this.”

“You half-expected me to sneak Maglor in here at some point, didn’t you?”

Gil-galad nodded. “I knew where he was. I knew you visited him sometimes. He is, for all that you and I are family, the sole remaining person in this land who knew you as an older child and adolescent.”

“He’s my father,” Elrond whispered, something he hadn’t said aloud to anyone but Maglor since the very early days of living in Gil-galad’s camp. He had swiftly learned that it was both impolitic and unbelievable to most of the surviving Eldar.

“Did he ever speak to you about what his wished done if he died?”

Elrond shook his head. “I once overheard him tell Maedhros that they should have died crossing the Sea, but either burials or cairns when burials were difficult were our ways. I half-fancy he’d wish to be buried with the Silmaril he cast into the water, but it’s a fancy. He wouldn’t tell me where that was and I suspect that the exact location doesn’t exist now; the coastlines have changed too much.”

“What would you choose for him?”

Elrond stared blankly at the fire. It may come to that, as much as he wanted to avoid thinking about it. “A burial at sea. A grave in the cemetery here would be vandalized. Better to give him to Ulmo’s embrace than my being confronted with constant reminders of how much he is hated.”

“There would be no public memorial for him then.”

Elrond met Gil-galad’s eyes. “His songs are still sung despite everything. That will be memorial enough.”

“Will it?”

Elrond squeezed his eyes shut. “In time.”

Gil-galad leaned over and wrapped an arm around Elrond. “We can have a private memorial for him, Elrond. I won’t leave you to mourn alone.”

He stood and looked at the archway into the bedroom. “Apart from making sure you have proper meals, is there anything else I can do?”

Elrond shook his head. “I need to see if I can wake him to at least drink something; I don’t need help with that. Just… keep people away from here. I don’t care if whatever tale you tell them is undignified or not.”

“That’s why you moved the screen, in case they visited.” He cracked a smile. “I do have to say this is not quite the use I envisioned it for. I rather expected Maglor to be rather more mobile and talkative if you had to hide him behind it in a corner of your bedroom-- if you ever convinced him to come.”

Elrond stared at Gil-galad as he collected the tray and let himself out of the suite. _That_  was why he’d given the screen… Elrond shook his head in fond surprise and took the small pot off the fire to ladle the hot broth into a bowl to let it cool.

 

 

“Elrond,” Maglor croaked. 

Elrond ran into the bedroom after nearly falling off the couch and refrained from flinging himself onto his father in an embrace. Maglor’s eyes were clear in the light of the lamp for the first time in days, the jaundice gone. “Do you want something to drink?”

A minute nod and Elrond reached for the pitcher and mug that had been a permanent fixture on the bedside table since he’d dragged Maglor home. Maglor shifted himself upright in bed, leaning against the solid wood headboard, and Elrond handed him the half-full mug. Maglor’s hands were steady as he brought the cup to his mouth-- another good sign.

“How do you feel?”

“Sore,” Maglor said. “My muscles ache abominably.”

“Are you capable of sitting upright for a quick bath? I can run one.”

Maglor put the empty mug down on the table and ran a hand through his hair with a grimace. “A quick one.”

True to his word, Maglor was able to tolerate sitting upright for a short while, long enough for Elrond to change the bedding and to open the window to air out the room a little. He stuck a warming pan under the blankets to make sure they were warm because the bedroom was now cool in the midnight air. He closed the window before helping Maglor back into bed.

Maglor narrowed his eyes at the chair that usually stood at Elrond’s desk and was now at the bedside. “Where have you been sleeping?”

“On the couch. Don’t worry about me, Father.”

He grumbled a little more and drank a full mug of water before falling easily back to sleep. That in and of itself was not worrisome; even the short bath would have likely exhausted him. Elrond waited for a short while before kissing Maglor’s forehead to check one last time that his fever was truly gone. Satisfied for now, he slipped into the living room to snatch another couple hours of sleep before needing to wake to check on Maglor again. He didn’t want to risk missing a relapse.

 

 

A timid knock sounded on the door and Elrond frowned. Maglor was in the bathroom drying his hair. “One moment,” Elrond said loudly. That would be all the warning he could give. 

He opened the door to find a servant woman holding a large tray with enough for two, followed by Gil-galad himself holding his own tray. Elrond gestured them both inside. The servant put the tray on the desk and turned to look Elrond up and down. “I’m glad to see you’re recovering, my lord.”

Elrond blinked and thanked her. She excused herself, closing the door behind her. Elrond stared at Gil-galad, who silently sat down on the couch, and then walked to the bathroom, knocking on the door frame. Maglor looked over at him, in the process of wrapping a tie around his loose braid. “Unfortunately, you can’t hide in here forever no matter how much you appreciate the luxury of a hot bath. Lunch is here.”

Maglor nodded. “Dare I ask what?”

Elrond shrugged. “I didn’t look.” He paused and said, “You aren’t going to like this, but Gil-galad decided to join us.”

Maglor’s lips thinned, but he evenly said, “Did he?”

Elrond sighed. “He’s known you were here since you arrived. I’d hoped he’d be content to ignore you.”

“Ah.”

Maglor strode by Elrond and into the living room. Gil-galad looked over the back of the couch at him and waved a fork. “The food’s on the desk. Elrond, drag that desk chair out here; there’s not enough room for all three of us on the couch.”

Elrond did so and let Maglor take that seat. Elrond sat down on the couch, situated equally between them. An awkward silence filled the room while they ate, at least until Maglor said, “Why are you here?”

Gil-galad said, “To see how you fared.”

“Why do you even care? You rule the remnants of my mistakes.”

“My father’s best friend was your elder brother. I grew up with more than tales of evil Fëanorians, even on Balar. I can be concerned for you as a person while still worrying about what you could do to my kingdom.”

“You want me to leave.”

“Only when Elrond says you’re well enough.” Gil-galad raised his eyebrows. “Lest you think that I remain ignorant that Elrond sometimes visits you, I tell you this: your camp is a hearty hike from here, possible to do in one day but better two. You remain nearby for Elrond and no other reason. You know you are an Exile for a multitude of reasons. You would not willingly come to Lindon, not even to see Elrond, and I respect that. You are content to slip unnoticed into the past, the lonely singer by the shore.” Gil-galad leaned forward, nearly upsetting his half-full plate of greens and baked fish. “Yet you are here now with my knowledge and permission. That means I am likewise responsible for your behavior. I know you, Maglor. You won’t do anything to further harm Elrond. When you are well, you will insist on leaving. Am I wrong?”

Maglor shook his head. “Yet I am not well enough to travel and may not be for another week.”

“I know,” Gil-galad said.

Elrond said, “When the time comes for you to leave, we will do so in the predawn hours. I cannot ask you to remain here longer.”

“Even though you want me to,” Maglor said. “Regardless of the judgement on my head, I have heard you complain enough about the politics that I do not wish to jeopardize your position here. I will leave when I am well and not a moment sooner.”

That was all the promise Elrond knew Maglor could give. It would never be time enough-- but he would take what time was given to them.

“That is acceptable. I would ask nothing less of either you or Elrond,” Gil-galad said. “I suspect Elrond would find some way to lock you in the bedroom if you tried to leave earlier.”

Elrond hid a smile behind a hand. His cousin rather had his measure. He finally said, “Possibly.”

Both Gil-galad and Maglor gave him nearly identical amused looks. Maglor said, “Of course you would. Don’t try to fool me; I know who planned most of the mischief Elros and you got up to.”

Elrond opened his mouth to respond and then thought silence was the better part of valor. Gil-galad put his fork down on his empty plate and said, “Really? He’s been rather studious since we met.”

Maglor grinned and Elrond had the sudden desire to both sink down into his seat and turn invisible so he could sneak away. “Please don’t.”

Maglor glanced at Elrond and nodded. “As you will.”

Gil-galad said, “What can you tell me about raising them that won’t embarrass Elrond? Sometimes we stumble across things that we didn’t even know were problems.”

Elrond’s urge to vanish disappeared and he looked at his father. Maybe he’d finally hear some explanations for things he’d wondered about that Maglor or Maedhros had told them they’d later explain and never did.

“The first thing you need to know is that we thought Elwing had drowned…”

 

 

A week and three days later, a fully recovered Maglor stood on the edge of the woods outside of the city, the birds singing a racket in the dawn. He insisted on traveling alone back to his camp, that the increased patrols from Lindon would keep him safe enough. Elrond didn’t argue; they both knew it was wishful thinking. The daylight would keep him safer. They also both knew that Elrond would once again leave the city to visit Maglor the moment he could find time and an excuse, neither of which he had at the moment. 

The leaves rustled in the breeze and Maglor embraced Elrond one last time. “Do I need to tell you to behave?”

Elrond laughed. “No. Be careful, Father.”

Maglor hugged him tighter and let him go. Maglor stepped into the forest, pack on his back. Elrond stayed still, and just at the point where Maglor would have vanished into the trees and underbrush, he turned and waved a final goodbye. Once Maglor disappeared, Elrond walked back to the city.

Back to his duties. Back to court politics. And back to counting the days until he could see his father again.


End file.
